Lesser Evils
by Mattk
Summary: Buffy's principles are tested when she's faced with an all too common human evil.  Season 4.
1. Prologue

Willow shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She wouldn't have thought that the herd of ditzes that comprised the Wicca group had the collective attention span to run a meeting longer than ten minutes.

Wrong.

She really should have known better. If nothing else, association with Cordelia Chase should have taught her that ditzes can talk for a _very_ long time. Even if it was about nothing.

_Especially _if it was about nothing.

"Okay, everyone, I have a few final announcements," Nightshade Silverhawk—also known as Rebecca Malloy—declared, clapping her hands for silence. Nightshade was the martinet who made the few actual decisions that were ever made in the unnamed Wicca group. She sometimes complained of the responsibility, but she wouldn't have had it any other way. Something she'd made _very_ clear. The girl who'd made the mistake of running against her for "Coven President" at the beginning of the semester had been out of the group three weeks later.

Willow paid little attention to the announcements, which included another bake sale, the proceeds of which would be taken to one of the magic shops in town and used to purchase a Book of Shadows for the "coven". Said Book to include Merilee's "empowering" brownie recipe, apparently.

Instead, she thought about quitting the group. Quitting wasn't something that came naturally to her, but this was hopeless. She was pretty sure that she could convince Tara to come with her, and one serious co-witch was better than the whole flock of black-and-silver clad poseurs.

"And finally—"

Thank the Goddess.

"We have some congratulations. Althea, please stand up."

Looking uncomfortable, Althea did so. Althea was a tall African-American girl with an athletic build. She was another member of the group that Willow knew to be considering quitting. No point in trying to get her to join the little coven of two she was planning to form with Tara, however. Althea had joined the Wicca group for feminist, rather than religious or mystical, reasons. She'd found it just as dissatisfying.

"Althea's application to join the Advocates has been accepted," Nightshade announced. "She begins training next week. Althea, the Sisterhood is proud of you." With that, she led a round of applause while Althea looked more and more embarrassed.

Willow clapped, but glanced sideways at Tara. Tara looked just as confused as she was. What the hell was an Advocate?

"I see some confused looks," Nightshade declared. Willow and Tara's attention snapped back to the front, where Nightshade was smirking pointedly at them. There were others who also looked confused, but she hadn't liked either of them since just before the Gentlemen's invasion, when they'd suggested actually doing some magic. "Some of the First Years here apparently didn't pay attention during Orientation," she continued smugly. "Althea, why don't you explain what an Advocate is?"

Althea glanced at Nightshade sourly—Nightshade hadn't been nearly this interested in activism when Althea had suggested using group funds to get some art supplies and a sheet to hang back when Take Back the Night had come through. Nonetheless, she turned back to the group and spoke.

"Advocates is a group of students who act as sexual assault, harassment, and abuse counselors. We're run by the Equal Educational Opportunities office, and while, yeah, we're there for people to talk to, we go further than that. We'll take people to the police, and the hospital, and we help 'em through the system. Whether the school system, or the legal system."

Nightshade was looking at Willow and Tara as if daring them to ask questions, but it was one of the other girls who raised her hand.

"Is that a big issue here?" She asked. "UC Sunnydale seems pretty safe…"

"Bigger than you'd think," Althea said. "You don't hear much about it, partly because we're completely confidential and partly because the administration and the trustees don't like to advertise it. Last year, there were nearly sixty rapes on campus. Probably a lot more—those were just the ones who came to us." She paused and looked around the circle. "This is a dangerous time for a lot of you. This first semester. You're fresh out of high school, first time away from your parents, so you go more overboard with the partying than you ever will again, drinking until you pass out every weekend. You don't know the danger spots and you can't spot the predators and you don't really know how to take care of yourselves yet. _This_ is the semester when it happens."


	2. Party at Phi Kappa Sigma

**Party at Phi Kappa Sigma**

Buffy glanced at her watch irritably. Just because she knew where Riley actually was nowadays didn't make waiting for him any more fun. "Just a quick sweep tonight, he said," she muttered, barely able to hear herself over the pounding music and the collective roar of party-chatter. "Go ahead, I'll meet you there, he said. Just a couple hours, I'll be there by nine-thirty." She glanced at her watch again, the third time in two minutes. "An hour later, and still no sign. Does he think I can stay here all night? I have class tomorrow." This was true. The weekend began on Wednesday afternoon at UC Sunnydale, and it was Thursday night. The Party was in full swing.

Annoyance was a convenient place to put worry. She understood that about her mom now. If all had gone well and the patrol had encountered nothing, then he _would_ have been here by nine-thirty. If they had run into some "hostiles", then the "bagging and tagging"—subduing the demon, taking it back to Initiative HQ, locking it up, and filling out the paperwork—might have slowed him down.

Assuming that they'd won the fight.

"That does it," Buffy muttered to herself. "I'm going out and looking for him."

She turned on her heel to go tell Willow what she was doing and nearly ran directly into some guy who'd been coming up behind her. Fortunately, she caught herself before a collision that probably would have sent him skidding across the floor.

"Oh! I'm sorry!" Buffy exclaimed.

"No, that's okay," he assured her. "I was actually coming over to see you." He held up his hands, each of which was holding a cup of punch. "You were standing over here all by yourself, and—"

"Oh, I was just waiting for my boyfriend," Buffy said quickly. The guy was gorgeous, but even if she wasn't with Riley, he wouldn't have had a chance. He looked too much like her two Great Disasters—he was tall and muscular with short-cropped, jet-black hair and big, soulful blue eyes.

"Oh," He looked crestfallen. "Well, still, have some punch," he said, holding out one of the cups. "It's good."

She accepted the cup and he lingered anxiously for a moment while she took her first sip. "It _is_ good," she praised, smiling and nodding at him. He smiled back, then wandered off back into the crowd.

Actually, it tasted kind of funny. But except for her adventures in One Million Beer C, she didn't have much experience with booze. Maybe that was how it was supposed to taste.

----

Fifteen minutes later, Buffy was at the end of her patience. Images of Riley scattered across one of the school lawns kept flashing into her head, and she couldn't take it anymore. After one last glance out the front door to see if he was coming—her fifth—Buffy crossed over to the couch where Willow was sitting.

Poor Willow. She was still so broken up over Oz. She was just sitting at the end of the couch, watching the party go on around her, staring at the occasional couple making out in the shadows with a mixture of wistfulness and envy. Buffy knew that she couldn't be having much fun and that she herself should be doing something about that. Until quarter after ten had arrived and she'd realized just how late Riley was, she had been. But right now it was closing in on eleven and she was too worried to be very good company. She'd make it up when she returned with Riley thrown over her shoulder.

"Hey, Will?"

"Uh?" Willow looked up at her, startled out of a reverie.

"Riley's late, and I'm getting a little worried. I'm going to go out and look for him."

"Oh," Willow said, sounding disappointed. "Okay."

"We'll be back soon," Buffy promised. "Just sit tight."

----

"Just sit tight," Willow grumbled as she watched Buffy go. "I just bet you'll be right back…after half an hour or so of smoochies. Why did you even bring me if you didn't really want to hang out with me you big—" She paused and considered, then a spiteful look appeared on her face. "No, not big, _little_—abandoner?" Not for the first time, she wished that she'd begged off tonight and gone to hang out with Tara.

"Excuse me."

Willow glanced up. There was an absolutely gorgeous guy standing there in front of her—blue eyes and broad shoulders and black hair. Somehow, she didn't find him as interesting as she once would have. Maybe it was because his hair was all short and spiky, so it reminded her of both Angel and Oz. A Double-Strength Man Trouble Warning Beacon.

"Yes?"

"Is your friend all right?" He asked.

"Oh, she's a pal," Willow muttered under her breath.

"I'm sorry?"

_You're being rude, _Willow scolded herself. _He hasn't done anything._ "She's gone to pick up her boyfriend," She explained. "They should be back in a while."

"I guess that gives me a little time to get acquainted with you, then," He smiled. "Can I get you something to drink?"

Falling Asleep On Duty 

Buffy had never been to the Phi Kappa Sigma fraternity house before. She'd stopped for directions twice trying to get there. At first, she figured that was why she was having a bit of difficulty finding her way to Lowell House. After a few minutes, though, she had to admit that she was just plain lost.

_How did that happen?_

UC Sunnydale wasn't _that_ big. There shouldn't be that much lost to get on campus. Besides, even before she'd been the Slayer, Buffy had possessed a pretty decent sense of direction. Finding her way _back_ to someplace should have been easy enough.

She was disoriented. That was the problem. It felt like there was sand in the gears in her head. Probably because she was so tired…

Wait.

_Eleven o'clock is like _early evening _to me. Why the hell would I be tired?_

Whether it made sense or not, she was exhausted. Her body felt heavy and slow, and she could barely keep her head up and her eyelids open, even as she stood.

_Maybe it was the drink—alcohol _is _a depressant. But I only had one! What the hell was in it?_

The unfamiliar territory was starting to look downright threatening. Buffy didn't like a lot of things about the layout of the UC Sunnydale campus. There were all those thick trees and high hedges and secluded courtyards, plus all of those surrounding woods. There were too few street lamps to begin with, and they had a tendency to get vandalized every weekend. Only about one in five of the blue-light security phones worked. Add the fact that the Security Department made the Sunnydale PD look like the FBI, and it seemed like somebody deliberately designed the place as a vampire buffet.

Case in point. Up ahead, the path she was walking on intersected another. Two girls had just hurried past the intersection and continued on—perhaps to the Phi Kap party? Trailing behind them, in the shadows that the lamps didn't reach, was a male vampire in a black trench coat.

Buffy got her stake out of her purse. This shouldn't take long. It _had_ to be a fledgling. First of all, he was in vamp face. Hunting in vamp face is kinda like showing up at your first day of Spring Training in a limo—a real rookie stunt. If the Prey spots you before Chow Time, it scares 'em off. Second, he was doing a sneak-up-and-snatch. On _two _people no less. A lot of screaming, a lot of struggling, poor control of the situation, and a witness left behind. Any vamp worth its fangs preferred seduction or ambush tactics—the better to trick or drag someone where no one will hear the screams.

She stepped out of her side path and into the vampire's way, cutting him off. "When I saw you in that trench coat, at first I thought you were a flasher," she said. This was untrue, but only because she could sense vampires. If she'd been going on appearances alone…"I was going to call campus security. But then I realized that you're a vampire," she set her face and brandished her stake, and her voice dropped into grim menace. "So I decided to deal with you myself."

"I'll be just as glad to eat you as them," the vamp snarled.

"Okay, but I warn you, I'm liable to be a lot harder on your teeth," she retorted.

Something was wrong from the moment the fight began. Buffy had thought that a tussle would wake her up, shake her out of her lethargy. It always had before.

Not this time.

Something was wrong.

Punches that should have knocked the fledgling to the ground barely staggered him. A spin-kick missed entirely and she came back down off-balance.

Something was very, very wrong.

Her blows had no strength and she was an instant slow and getting slower and she had no quips or taunts because she couldn't _think_. She was needing to concentrate on things that had long since become muscle memory and there was _sand_ in the gears in her head and she couldn't _think_!

And through her mounting terror, she just kept getting sleepier. She was getting slower and weaker and more confused, and she could barely keep her eyes open. Her body felt so heavy.

Suddenly, pain erupted on the side of her head and fireworks exploded behind her eyes, and she found herself on the ground with no real idea how she'd gotten there, the vampire standing over her.

"Well," the vampire, apparently still in the habit of breathing, panted. "That was certainly good for the appetite. Thanks." He started to kneel down and bend toward her when he exploded into ash.

"Don't worry, miss," a familiar voice said. "You're…Buffy?"

It seemed that her worries about Riley had been unfounded.

"I still know who I am," she quipped weakly. "He didn't hit my head _that_ hard."

----

Buffy felt much better by the time they reached Stephenson Hall. Riley had carried her for the first part of the journey, but by the time they arrived she was leaning on him as she walked.

"So what happened?" Riley asked as they slowly climbed the stairs. "Was he some kind of vampire bad-ass? Did I just get really lucky here?"

"No, that's just it," She frowned. "He was a newbie, I'm sure of it. Something was wrong with _me_. I was sick or something. I think I might have passed out even if he hadn't been there."

"I didn't know you could _get_ sick," Riley said.

"Not often, but when I do, it can get nasty. I once had a case of the flu that put me in the hospital." She fell silent for a moment. It still hurt to think of that time in her life. "But that doesn't make any sense," she continued after the moment had passed. "How could it come and go so quickly?" Her expression grew worried. "I hope it's not anything Hellmouthy."

Riley's face had gone grim. "Did you have anything to drink?"

"A cup of punch," Buffy answered. "Why?"

"That's not good."

Buffy looked affronted. "I wasn't drunk," she protested.

"I know, I—"

"I know what drunk feels like," she continued, acting as if she hadn't heard him. "And this isn't drunk."

"I believe you, it's just—"

"I'll have you know that I can drink like a man three times my size."

"Buffy! I believe you. You weren't drunk."

"Where were _you_, anyway?" Buffy sulked.

Riley sighed. Maybe she wasn't drunk, but she definitely was not in her right mind. Fortunately, he interpreted her question correctly: she still felt accused, and she was blaming him for not showing up on time. It never would have happened if you'd been there.

"Bagging and tagging," he answered. "We ran into a couple weird ones."

"Hey, that's right," Buffy said. "Shouldn't you have bagged and tagged _my _vampire, instead of dusting him?"

Riley shook his head. "I can't carry my taser around with me."

"But you _do _carry a stake?"

Riley quirked a wry grin at her. "On this campus, a lot more useful for self-defense than mace."

Buffy chuckled as they approached her door.

"So why did you want to know if I'd had anything to drink?" she asked as she fished around in her pockets for her key.

"I'll tell you in the morning," Riley said, grim-faced once more. "Right now, you need some sleep."

"Okay," Buffy agreed, turning the key in the lock. "Could you go over to Phi Kap and tell Willow what happened?" She asked as she swung the door open. She had to look over her shoulder to say this—Riley had stopped in the doorway, staring straight ahead.

"I don't think that'll be necessary," he said.

Confused, Buffy followed his gaze across the room, to where she saw something that blew the lethargy out of her system at last and made her eyes fly wide open.

Parker Abrams tucking Willow into bed, then turning to face them.

The Honest Liar 

"Oh, good. You're here," Parker said calmly, as if the situation between him and the other two people in the room was completely amiable.

"Yeah, we're here," Buffy growled, crossing her arms and glaring at him. Riley closed the door behind them and stepped to her side. "And you have about five seconds to explain why _you're _here before I kick your ass, throw you out that door, and call security."

"Your friend was…sick," Parker explained.

"Like you care," Buffy scoffed.

"Usually I wouldn't," Parker admitted. "First Years drink themselves sick all the time. But there's some things you just can't walk away from."

_Thirty Minutes Earlier_

"Well, I'd like to go to France next year," Parker said to the girl beside him. "They say it's difficult to do a semester abroad in your Senior year, but I don't want to miss the chance. After all, that's what college is all about, isn't it? New experiences."

"Oh, definitely," the girl agreed warmly, nodding. Her name was Sung Olsen, and she was stunningly beautiful—one hell of a prize. Her skin was golden and her hair was night-dark, though there was a streak of white-blond in it that she swore was natural. Her almond-shaped eyes, currently wide and bright and impressed, were blue. He had once—carefully—asked about this unusual combination of features. "Ever seen _Miss Saigon_?" She had asked in reply. When he had answered in the affirmative, she had said "I'm what happens a few years after a happy ending."

Parker took a sip of his drink and smiled. Sung smiled back, her delicate features warming. She didn't know that the real reason he was smiling was because he was thinking: _Score! She has bitten on the "New Experiences" hook. Thank God for Freshwomen. Nobody else would fall for a line like that. Not that it's a lie. Exactly. I _would_ like to go to France. Kinda. Hell, a little luck and I might be able to reel her in tonight. It might not even be necessary to sink the "dead dad" hook into her_.

He was about to launch into his explanation about how he wanted to see all the great artwork and perfect his French—by the time you were done whispering a few French endearments in a girl's ear she was usually standing in a slippery puddle—when he spotted something over her shoulder.

That girl, earlier this year. The one who'd given him so much trouble. What was her name? Buffy? Wasn't that her little friend, the one who had yelled at him right before the fire? Willow? Funny, he didn't think she was the type to end up passed out on a couch at a frat party. Ordinarily he wouldn't care, but this was a Phi Kap party. It wasn't a safe place to sleep.

Oh, well. He was turning his attention back to Sung—after all, Buffy or that stupid hulk Finn could take care of her—when a familiar figure sat down beside Willow on the couch. Short, black hair. Broad shoulders.

Darren Edwards.

"Are you okay?" Sung asked. "You're looking kinda pale."

"Me?" Parker stumbled. "Oh. Yeah, I'm fine. It's just my…friend over there," he explained, pointing.

"Her?" Sung asked, following his finger. "Oh, I know her. She's in my drama class." She winced. "She looks kinda sick."

"Yeah, she does," Parker agreed quickly. "I'm a bit worried about her. I'd better get her home."

"It looks like that guy is taking care of her," Sung shrugged.

_That's what I'm afraid of._ Parker thought. "Well, I don't think she knows him at all. He probably doesn't know where she lives—I do."

"Okay," she said, disappointed. "See you soon?"

"Wouldn't miss it," Parker grinned, then headed for the couch where Willow slept.

----

Willow was awake again when Parker arrived at the couch—sort of. Darren had gotten her sitting up and semi-conscious and was trying to coax her to her feet.

"Thanks, Darren," he said as he arrived, nodding. "I can take it from here. I know her."

Darren stared up like a deer in the headlights. "But—"

"It's okay," Parker continued. "I'll make sure she gets home safe." Then he turned to Willow.

"Hey, Willow," he greeted her. He was loud and over-enthusiastic, hoping to wake her and catch her attention. It worked, sort of. Her eyes blinked open and she looked up at him blearily.

"You don't look so good," he continued, crouching in front of her so he was on eye level. "Have too much to drink?"

"Don't think so," she said in a dazed voice. "Can't remember."

"You must have, then. How are you feeling?"

"Sleepy," she answered, her eyes starting to drift closed.

"Why don't I take you home, then?" he suggested.

"She's welcome to crash here," Darren offered quickly.

"No, she's probably better off in her own bed," Parker waved the offer down. Darren glared at him in a way that clearly said _Piss off, punk, can't you see I'm working_, but Parker kept his voice and expression deliberately innocent. Darren was bigger than he was, and he was alone in the Phi Kap house. If it seemed like he was deliberately cock-blocking Darren, he would probably get taken out back and beat up. "Thanks, though."

"I know you," Willow said, catching both young men's attention. "You're Parker," she said, pointing at him. "You were mean to Buffy."

Darren grinned. "Sounds like she doesn't want to go home with you," he gloated.

"It's not like that," Parker said. "I just want to make sure she makes it across campus. It's chilly out there tonight. If she passes out on a bench somewhere, she could get hypothermia."

"I don't like you," Willow said. "You're a poop head."

Darren snorted laughter.

Parker flushed. "You're right, I know, hurting Buffy was bad. But you know I'm not dangerous, right?"

"Yes," she admitted reluctantly.

"Well there are some dangerous things out there, and I'd worry if you tried to go home alone—"

"All alone. Buffy's not coming back."

"You want to go home, don't you?" he coaxed.

"Dude," Darren protested. "I don't think—"

Willow nodded. "Sleepy," she said.

Parker rose to his feet and offered her a hand up. "Come on, then," he said. "Let's get you home to bed."

Willow rose unsteadily to her feet, but Darren leaped up. "Seriously, you don't have to go," he protested. "She's free to crash here."

"Don't feel so good," Willow said, swaying on her feet.

"Hear that, man? She's sick," Parker said. "Don't want puke everywhere, do you?"

Suddenly, the sound of loud retching came from across the room, followed by another voice raising a triumphant shout of "Power booting!"

"Well, any _more_ puke everywhere," Parker corrected without missing a beat. "Thanks anyway, though." With that, he pulled one of Willow's arms around his shoulders, wrapped a supporting arm around her, and led her out the door.

_Present_

"I had to carry her piggyback the last third of the way back," Parker finished. "She was just conscious enough to give me her key when we got here. You two arrived five minutes after we did, and here we are."

"Here we are," Buffy agreed, the words falling off into silence. "And I'm sure glad we got here when we did," she said, her voice tight.

Parker scowled. "Why would you say that?" he asked, pretty sure he already knew what she meant.

"By your own story, you were pretty eager to get her home."

Riley looked down at his girlfriend in surprise.

Parker scowled. "Look, I know that you and I had a misunderstanding, and I know that I hurt your feelings, but—"

Buffy's eyes blazed, and Parker knew that he'd made a mistake. "Misunderstanding?" she demanded. "You _used_ me. You lied to me and you tricked me—it was all just some kind of game to you, wasn't it? You're no better than this Darren Edwards! How do I know that you didn't bring Willow home to do the same thing he wanted to?"

"Buffy!" Riley said, shocked.

Parker brought his fist down on Buffy's dresser like a gavel, snapping their attention back to him. The solicitous, charming look was gone from his face, replaced by something Buffy had never seen there: cold fury.

"You know what?" he said. "It's late, I'm tired, I passed up a pretty good chance to get laid and risked my ass to get your friend home safe. And you call me a rapist? Fuck you. I just got out of the mood to sugar-coat things for you."

Buffy, who had been shocked at first by Parker's transformation, now met his gaze and held it firmly. She suspected that this was the first time she was hearing the truth from Parker Abrams.

"I'm a player," Parker continued. "I'm not ashamed of that. Sex _is_ a game and I play to win. If it comes out a draw, everyone wins, that's all good, but it doesn't happen that way often. You lost," he said, pointing at her. "And now you hate me. Fine. You're not the first and you weren't the last. Accuse me of cheating? Whatever. But I've never done anything with a woman—not you, not anyone else, _ever_—that she didn't choose to do. Remember? 'Making a choice'?"

Buffy flushed and balled her fists but Parker pressed on.

"That's _because_ sex is a game and games are about fun. What fun is it if the other side isn't playing, too—willing and eager? And sometimes I lose! I tried to get into her pants once," he said, thrusting his thumb over his shoulder toward Willow. "She turned me down flat. Laughed in my face. Called me 'Id-Boy', which I still don't quite get. Did I get mad? No! I just put a mark in the Loss column and moved on. _That's_ the difference between me and Darren Edwards."

Still glaring, Buffy relaxed and unclenched her fists.

"Know what they call him?" Parker continued. "Date-Rape Darren. You might have met him yourself. Black hair, blue eyes—really hospitable with offering you a drink of punch?"

"I met him," Buffy, slowly-dawning horror spreading across her face. "The punch…wasn't very good."

"It was drugged," Parker said bluntly. "And so was Willow's. Roofies, I'd guess. Like I said, that's the difference between him and me. For me, sex is a game. For him, it's a hunt, and all he cares about is pretty little heads mounted on his wall. He doesn't _hear_ 'no'. Hell, he doesn't even listen for 'yes'. You may not believe this, but I hate him even more than most guys would, because _he_ cheats. He rigs and dishonors my game and he _cripples_ women who might have been worthy opponents. He takes something that's supposed to be fun and turns it into a weapon, and makes it so they don't ever want to play again. I would never do that. _Never_. So don't you _dare_ call me a rapist."

They stood there for a moment in a silent tableau, Parker panting angrily while Buffy watched him, her expression unreadable. Riley prepared to step into the middle of any fight that might break out, hoping that Buffy wouldn't break anything he put in her way.

"You're right," Buffy said at last. "That was a terrible thing to accuse you of, even given our history. I'm sorry."

Parker watched her suspiciously for a moment, then took a deep breath and let it out, his customary smile returning.

Riley relaxed with a similar sigh. Danger past.

"You know," Parker grinned. "I think that may be the first time I've ever heard a woman actually say the words 'you're right'."

"You've saved Willow, and I can't thank you enough for that," Buffy said. Then she stepped back, took the doorknob, and threw the door open. "Now please leave."

----

"Who is 'they'?" Buffy asked, not turning around after she closed the door behind Parker.

"They?" Riley asked, confused.

"He said 'they' call this bastard 'Date-Rape Darren'. Who is 'they'?"

"His frat brothers," Riley answered. "They know."

"So do you," Buffy said, turning back to him. Her face was bleak with shock and anger. "Why haven't you done anything about it?"

"What do you want me to do?" Riley asked, spreading his hands helplessly. "Have a street rumble between our fraternities? Nobody presses charges."

"Why didn't you warn me?" she demanded.

"I thought you and Willow would be safe. What can hurt a Slayer and a witch at a frat party? Even at Phi Kap? I didn't want to look like some possessive jerk of a boyfriend, trying to keep you from having fun without me."

"Oh, yeah, it was a blast," she snarled.

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry doesn't do it!" she yelled. "He tried to rape _Willow_, Riley!" She paused, and she started to tremble as the other half hit home. "He tried to rape _me_! There has to be _something_ we can do!" she insisted, her eyes filling with tears of helpless rage.

"I'm sorry," Riley repeated. "I just don't know what that might be."


	3. The Morning After

**The Morning After**

Buffy slammed out of the door to the Disciplinary Office, into the lobby where Willow sat with a 2-liter bottle of water. "Come on," she snarled. "Let's go."

----

"What happened?" Willow asked as she struggled to keep up with the fuming Slayer. Buffy's legs were a little shorter than Willow's, but she was chugging along like a blond express train and the red-haired witch had to all but run to keep up. No easy feat, considering the hangover she was nursing. The sunlight stabbed her eyes and her head throbbed with the impact of every step she took.

"I go in and I talk to one of the clerks or caseworkers or whatever," Buffy snapped. "When I'm done, she just looks at me over the tops of her glasses like she thinks I'm some little kid who wandered in and started telling her about my adventures with my imaginary friend. Then she says 'Those are some serious accusations, Ms. Summers. But I'm afraid the only charge you can really prove is that they were serving alcohol to minors. And if you file a report on them for that, you will also be punished, as the minor who accepted the alcohol. Now. Do you wish to file a report?"

"What if _I_ went back and tried?" Willow offered. "I could say that I didn't know it was alcohol, 'cause I, you know, didn't."

"Already tried that," Buffy growled. "She said that I should have known from the first taste. In fact, I shouldn't have been at a party where they were serving alcohol in the first place."

"Did she hear the part about the roofies?" Willow asked in disbelief.

"If she didn't, it's not because I didn't say it enough times."

"Then why was she acting like you're the criminal here?" Willow had seen such injustice before, but usually something supernatural was involved. It was easier to believe that Buffy was a delinquent than it was to believe that vampires existed. But this was…well, not normal, but it was something that happened in the _real_ world. Date rape was something that happened and everyone knew about it. Why wouldn't they believe _this_?

"I don't know, Will," Buffy replied. "There may be some reason _other_ than protecting the school's image and ducking trouble with some rich golden boy's parents, but I don't feel like giving them the benefit of the doubt right now."

Neither of them spoke for a little way after that. Buffy was fuming silently, while Willow was still too stunned to be angry just yet.

"This is _twice_ this has happened to me!" Buffy burst out as they entered Stephenson. "_Twice!_ First time I almost get fed to a giant demon snake, this time the guy just wants me for himself. You know what?" She abruptly reversed direction and started back toward the door. "I'm going to go file that report. I'm used to being in trouble. It's worth it to bring those bastards _down_."

Willow was just turning to follow when a sobbing girl ran past them and out the door.

"Hey," Willow said. "I know that girl. She's in my drama class."

"Buffy!" The Slayer and the witch turned to find Parker jogging up to them. "Did Sung come by here?"

"She sure did—crying her eyes out," Buffy answered accusingly. She was in a mood to believe the worst of people.

"Look, I know you don't like me," Parker said. "But I need your help. You saved my life in that fire—you're good at helping people. I don't know what to do."

"What did you do?" Buffy demanded.

"I don't know! She started to say something about the party last night and then started crying! I think something might have happened."

Without another word, the three of them took off running in the direction Sung had gone.

----

Sung ran fast and hid well. If it hadn't been for Buffy's tracking skills, they wouldn't have been able to find her. But find her they did.

----

Buffy came to a halt atop a rise in the trail. Parker arrived a few moments later, puffing like a leaky air pump. Willow trailed in last, her face white and drawn.

"You okay?" Buffy asked.

Willow shook her head. "I barfed," she said in a tiny voice.

"Oh, Willow," Buffy soothed, stroking her friend's back.

"It's the only reason I got here before she did," Parker wheezed. "Christ, you two run like gazelles."

"I feel a little better now," Willow said, trying to straighten her shoulders bravely.

"Good," Buffy said. " 'Cause we're here."

"Here?" Parker gasped. "Where's here?"

"She's out there," Buffy pointed. "In the woods. Not far at all."

"How'd you know that?" Parker asked, taking deep breaths in an attempt to regain a normal rhythm.

"I can hear her," Buffy answered. "She's crying."

----

They found Sung curled up between the roots of a big tree, hugging her legs to her chest, sobbing into her knees.

Parker looked helplessly back and forth at the two women who had come with him. Buffy shrugged—she didn't know Sung at all. Willow waved him toward Sung, as if to say 'You go first'.

Parker obeyed. He approached Sung slowly and carefully, making sure to walk on leaves and twigs so she could hear him coming. As he drew near, he apparently decided that it was best not to loom over her. He crouched and duck-walked the last few steps to her side. "Sung?" he coaxed. "Sung, are you okay?" He winced. "That was a stupid question. I mean, what's wrong?"

"Oh, God, Parker, I'm sorry," She sobbed. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so _sorry_!"

"Sorry?" Parker looked confused. "You didn't do anything to me."

"I did, I did!" Sung pressed her face more tightly into her knees and sobbed louder.

He looked back over his shoulder to Willow, desperation on his face: _Please help me. I don't know what to do._

Willow circled him and knelt in front of the crying girl. "Sung?" she said gently. "Do you remember me? I'm Willow, from Drama class. Can you tell us what happened?"

Sung paused in her sobbing and took a few deep, hitching breaths, trying to regain enough control to talk. She raised her head up out of her knees, but didn't look at any of them.

"I don't know," she answered. "I really…I really don't. I just remember, after you took her home, I didn't really have anyone to hang out with. All the girls I came with had either left or hooked up already. I don't know which. So I was just hanging out and this guy came up to me and started talking. He was…nice. Nice, and funny, and—and…and I'd already had a few drinks. Then I had a few more, and then I guess I had a few more, because the next thing I know, I'm waking up. In this guy's bed. And I'm—oh, God, Parker, I'm so sorry I'm naked and I'm sore and I _know_ we did _something_."

She raised her eyes, bright with tears, and dared to look at Parker's face for the first time. She mistook the bleak, grim look she found there for anger at her and continued on. "You have to believe me. I _don't_ do things like this. I've _never_ done anything like this. I just…I don't know what _happened_."

"Sung," he interrupted softly, holding up a hand to stop her. "It's okay. Well…what I mean is, don't worry about me. I didn't know, for 100 percent sure, that we were together yet last night. Even if we were, I wouldn't have blamed you for this. What happened last night was _not_ your fault."

"But—"

"If you can't remember what happened, then you were really, really drunk," Buffy said firmly from where she still stood, leaning against a tree with her arms crossed. "Maybe even passed out. He had no business doing _anything_ with you."

"I _do _remember," Sung said, looking back down at her knees. "Bits and pieces. Then I woke up at four in the morning and he said 'Oh, you're finally awake. I was afraid I was going to have to gnaw my arm off to get away'. When I asked him what happened, he just said 'Nothing special', then asked me to leave because he had an 8:30 class and needed some sleep."

Buffy and Willow both stiffened. Sending a lone girl walking across UC Sunnydale campus at four in the morning was a good way to get her eaten. Was this "guy" that ignorant of the dangers of his campus?

Or was he disposing of evidence?

"This…guy you're talking about," Buffy said cautiously. "Did he give you a name?"

"Darren," Sung answered. "Darren…Evers? Edgar? Something like that."

"Edwards," Parker corrected.

"That's right," Sung agreed.

The other three looked at each other.

"Could you excuse us for a second?" Willow said as she rose to her feet, taking Parker by the arm and pulling him with her as she went. "We need to talk."

"Okay," Sung agreed.

As Willow pulled Parker away, Buffy went and knelt beside Sung. There was a moment of silence before Sung spoke up again. "I wasn't just drunk last night, was I?" she asked quietly.

Buffy considered what she should say, then decided that there was no point in lying. "I don't think so," she answered.

"I didn't think so," Sung admitted. "I've been drunk before, but I've never had a blackout. And some of the things I _do_ remember—I couldn't move. It was like a nightmare. I thought that maybe it was, but then I woke up, and it didn't go away."

Buffy said nothing.

"If it wasn't a dream, and I wasn't just drunk, then that means I was…well, you know."

"Yeah." Buffy agreed.

"Oh, God." Sung buried her face in her knees again.

----

"This isn't really the kind of helping people we're good at," Willow said to Parker. "Do you have a cell phone?"

Parker pulled a phone from his pocket and handed it to her. She flipped it open and dialed a number that she'd seen many times on the call list for Wicca group. "Hello, Althea? I'm glad to catch you at home."

----

Althea met them at the edge of campus. From there, she took Sung and drove her to the hospital for a rape kit and emergency contraception.

Sometimes, Althea had said during the question-and-answer session at the Wicca group, it was difficult to convince victims to go to the hospital. They were ashamed or embarrassed or just wanted to forget that anything had happened. That wasn't the case with Sung. Once she had realized that she was a victim, not a betrayer, she had calmed down and become very businesslike. This was an emergency to be dealt with, not a wrong she had done. And Sung Olsen knew how to handle herself in an emergency.

----

"This is my fault," Parker said as he watched Althea drive away with Sung.

"Don't misplace the blame," Buffy said. "You're not the bad guy. Not here, anyway."

"I shouldn't have left her alone," Parker argued.

"Maybe not," Buffy admitted. "But you were trying to do the right thing. And you _did_ do _a_ good thing. You saved Willow."

Willow, who had still been watching Althea's car pass out of sight around a corner, turned back to them. "Yeah. And that was a good thing," She agreed. "A really, _really_ good thing. I'm sorry I haven't said thank you for it yet—which, thank you, very, very much."

"But If I hadn't been trying to get her in the sack, she would have been safe with her friends," He insisted. "Maybe she wouldn't even have been there at all!"

"Don't…" Willow tried to protest, but Parker wouldn't hear her.

"I shouldn't have just given up for the night and gone home," he continued. "I should have gone back and made sure she made it home safe."

This had gone on long enough. Buffy decided to cut through the crap. "Maybe," she said curtly. "Or maybe Darren Edwards shouldn't have raped her. Maybe _he's_ the asshole here."

Parker said nothing, but looked back at her doubtfully.

"The only one who should be feeling guilty right now is the one who was handing out drugged drinks last night," she insisted.

Parker still said nothing, and the doubt remained on his face. Buffy gave up, shaking her head. "Come on, Willow," she said. "Excitement's over. Let's get you back to the dorm. Maybe a nap will help."

"Nap sounds good," Willow agreed as she allowed Buffy to lead her off. "And maybe something easily washable to throw up in."


	4. Interlude: Breakdown

**Interlude: Breakdown**

Tara slipped a bookmark into the psychology textbook she was studying from and rose to answer the knock at the door.

"He-hello?" She called.

"It's me," Willow answered from the other side of the door. "Can I come in?"

Tara opened the door immediately. "Of c-course," she said.

Instead of bustling in and flittering about the room, complimenting on the pretty things and talking about her day as was her custom, Willow trudged in very slowly and delicately, as if she was very tired or a little sick. The latter seemed more likely—she did look a bit peaked.

"A-are y-y-you okay?" she asked.

Willow shook her head, then winced.

"Hung over?" Tara joked, without even a hint of her stutter. She barely noted it before moving on, but that was happening more and more often around Willow. She didn't know why it happened, but she liked it.

In any case, she doubted that Willow was. Hung over, that was. She'd seen Willow with minor ailments before, and she always made with the theatrical moaning and groaning, vows to never eat that/drink that/do that again—it might have been annoying if Willow was at all serious about it, rather than playing it for humor to distract herself and amuse her caregivers.

Something more serious was wrong with Willow this time.

"Kinda," Willow answered, sitting down on Tara's bed.

"S-so you j-just got k-k-kinda d-d-d-drunk last night?" Tara ribbed. "W-as it w-w-worth it?"

"I wasn't drunk," Willow whispered, looking into her lap. "I was drugged."

Stunned, Tara dropped onto the bed beside her. "Tell me," she said in a voice that had no air in it, taking one of Willow's hands.

So Willow did. She told of the one drink that she could remember from the handsome, dark-haired young man. She told of waking up in her bed in the morning, wondering why she was still wearing her clothes from the night before. Of Buffy's account of the night before, of her rescue by _Parker_ of all people. She told of the visit to the Disciplinary Office and of Sung's weeping flight into the woods.

"So it turns out that third time was the charm for Date-Rape Darren last night," she concluded dully. "And all I could think as I was watching Althea drive away to the hospital with her was 'Blessed Goddess, that could have been me'. I mean, what kind of person does that make me? Somebody gets raped and all I can think of is 'I'm glad it wasn't me'."

"It makes you a p-person kind of p-person," Tara said. "Th-this p-p-Parker saved you from be-being r-r-r-r-r-" The word stuck behind her teeth. Willow relaxed her, loosened her hobble-bound tongue. But the thought of this…word…even coming _close_ to Willow did the exact opposite. "-r-r-r-_raped_," she gritted out. "Of c-c-_course_ y-you're re-re-relieved."

"But I _didn't_ get 'saved'," Willow protested, her voice full of self-blame and anguish. "Someone got _traded_ for me. Parker helped me instead of staying with Sung and _she_ got raped instead—maybe _because_ Parker helped me. Maybe this Darren wanted to punish Parker for saving me by raping Sung!"

"Th-th-th-that's n-not your f-f-f-f-fault."

"No, but…it's terrible…_I'm_ terrible—someone I know and like got raped, maybe partly because of me and all I can think about even now is 'it could have been me'." She paused, then repeated: "It could have been me."

Pause. Tears welled up in her eyes.

"It could have been me."

The tears overflowed.

"It could have been me."

Tara said nothing. The time for words was over. Instead, she held her arms out.

"It could have been me. It could have been me. Oh, God, oh, God, it could have been me!"

She fell into Tara's strong, safe, farmgirl arms, and dissolved into tears, sobbing over and over again: "It could have been me. It could have been me."

Tara just held on tight and made the occasional comforting cooing noise. Later, she would say 'It could have been—but it wasn't.' She'd been rescued and relief was a perfectly okay way to feel about that. What _wasn't_ okay was blaming herself, or anyone other than Darren. The _real_ wrong had been done at that party, and _anything_ she might feel just didn't measure up. Then, she would encourage Willow to be strong and help Sung.

Yes. She would say all of these things. Later.

For now, she would wait, and murmur comforting things that wouldn't be heard, and hold on while Willow cried herself out into her shoulder.


	5. Testimony

**Testimony**

Statement of Buffy Summers, Taken by caseworker Shannon Delahunt of the Disciplinary Office

Delahunt: State your name for the record, please.

Summers: Buffy Anne Summers.

Delahunt: Buffy is your real name?

S: (Sigh) Yes, it is. You can check my file if you don't believe me.

D: That won't be necessary. Now: you attended the party at the Phi Kappa Sigma fraternity house on the night of the alleged incident?

S: Yes.

D: You _are_ aware that twenty-one is the legal drinking age in California.

S: Yes, which is why I wasn't planning on drinking.

D: I'm afraid that's not good enough. By school regulations, you're not even supposed to attend parties where alcohol is served.

S: I know. Now.

D: Ignorance of the rules is no defense, Ms. Summers.

S: I know. Look, can't we get off me and get to the real reason we're here?

D: Just trying to get all of the facts straight. Now. You were approached by Mr. Edwards.

S: Yes.

D: And he gave you a cup of punch.

S: Yes.

D: I'm confused. I thought you said you weren't planning on drinking.

S: I know that this sounds _hideously_ naïve, but I didn't assume that the punch was alcoholic.

D: That _would _be naïve. But I don't think you're naïve, Ms. Summers.

S: Honestly, I wasn't even thinking about it. My boyfriend was really late, I was getting worried, and this guy handed me a drink. I just drank it to be polite.

D: Ms. Summers, I assume that you _attended_ "Safe Party Training" during Orientation? Learned not to accept drinks from strangers or leave your drink unattended?

S: I told you, I wasn't thinking about it.

D: Apparently not.

S: Why are you _grilling_ me like this? This isn't _my_ hearing!

D: Ms. Summers…

S: A half-hour after drinking that _one_ drink he gave me, I was so completely knocked out that my boyfriend had to _carry_ me home! Parker had to do the same for Willow! Then he finally gets lucky with Sung. Doesn't that form a pattern for you?

D: Please calm down, Ms. Summers.

S: Since this happened, I've been hearing things around campus. Stories about Phi Kap, how it isn't a safe place for women to go. Come to think of it, there weren't many women older than sophomores at that party…

D: Are you saying that you never heard these rumors _before_ the party you attended?

S: I wasn't listening for them. I'm just a first-semester First year, I haven't really had time to pick up all the campus knowledge yet.

D: Interesting.

S: Have you _heard_ what his nickname is among his frat brothers?

D: Yes, Ms. Summers, we have. He claims that they gave it to him out of envy for his high success rate with women.

S: 'Success' is easy when a woman is unconscious.

D: That's a very strong allegation, Ms. Summers. And you have very little evidence to support it.

S: I'm _giving_ my evidence.

D: No. You're making unsupported accusations and repeating rumors.

S: Excuse me?

D: Look at it from our point of view, Ms. Summers: your "evidence" amounts to your word against his. Perhaps things happened as you said, but there are other options. Consider this scenario: Ms. Olsen has a one-night stand with Mr. Edwards and is upset to discover that he's no longer interested in her in the morning. She decides to punish him, and you and Ms. Rosenberg, as her friends, agree to help.

S: I never even _met_ Sung before—

D: Please let me finish, Ms. Summers. All of you have heard the rumors about Phi Kappa Sigma and have even heard of Mr. Edwards' nickname, so you believe that they'll be vulnerable to certain accusations.

S: Are you pulling this _directly_ out of Darren's ass?

D: There's no need for that kind of language, Ms. Summers. It certainly won't help your case at _your_ disciplinary hearing.

S: You know what? You're a joke. Your entire office—your entire _system_—is a joke. You're just trying to cover your legal asses. The fact that an _eighteen-year-old-girl_ has been _raped_ doesn't matter to you.

D: Ms. Summers, if you don't have anything useful left to say, this meeting is over.

S: I guess we're done, then. Because nothing I say is going to be 'useful' as long as I'm talking to you.

False Witness

Still fuming, Buffy entered the dining hall. She scanned the room for familiar faces, hoping to spot Riley. Instead, she saw Willow, sitting at a round table with Sung, Althea, and that shy-looking blond girl from the Wicca group.

She stalked across the room. A group of hulking football players scattered in front of her, perhaps sensing genuine danger from this tiny woman, half the size of the smallest of them. When she reached the table, Buffy grabbed a chair, spun it around, and slammed herself down into it, crossing her arms over the back and glaring at the rest of the table so balefully that even Willow looked concerned.

"Didn't go well, huh?" The red-haired witch asked tentatively.

"Oh, no, they made sure to get every last detail—about my drinking," Buffy snapped.

"I wish I could say I was shocked," Althea said. "But there's some people who are more worried about keeping things quiet than justice, and a lot of them work for this school."

"Well, there's an unusually large number of them living in Sunnydale…" Willow offered timidly.

"So it's okay for me to get raped," Sung said jabbing angrily at her food. "Unless I talk about it. But if I start making some noise, and—God forbid—somebody speaks up with me, making even _more_ noise, _then_ they mobilize the troops."

Althea nodded. "It's pretty obvious what they're trying to do," she said. "If they can get Buffy to keep quiet for fear of getting in trouble for drinking, your case gets a lot weaker. Maybe you'll shut up entirely."

"But I thought your interview was with Mrs. Delahunt," Willow said to Buffy, a bewildered look on her face.

"It was," Buffy replied.

"But…she's a woman," Willow protested. "How could a woman—"

"Because she thinks she's above it all," Buffy answered. "You've seen denial before, Willow, you should know what it looks like. We're just little freshwomen who got in trouble because we were someplace we're not supposed to be, and now we're causing trouble for everyone else. _She's_ married, probably with kids—who are getting raised better than _we_ must have been—and she's a respectable working woman. _She's_ living right." Buffy caught herself, realizing that she was ranting. Her voice had risen to a peak of volume and sarcasm. Everyone at the table—and some people at neighboring tables—were staring at her. She deflated with a sigh, her shoulders drooping. "She has to believe that we did something wrong or stupid," she continued, much more quietly. "Otherwise, she might have to admit that it can happen to anyone. That it could happen to her or someone she cares about. And she just can't deal with that."

Althea nodded in agreement. "That sounds about right."

Willow and Tara both looked crestfallen. Sung stabbed much more violently at her food.

Buffy sighed and started to get to her feet. Supper might not make anything better, but _not_ having it tended to make things worse.

It was just then that a young man clothed entirely in Abercrombie & Fitch arrived at their table. "Hi," he said. "Is one of you ladies Sung Olsen?"

"Uh, that's me," Sung said, giving him a small wave.

"Hi," he repeated. "I'm from Alpha Gamma. We're having a party on Friday, and we were hoping you could come."

"Oh, I don't think so," Sung answered quickly, taking a sudden interest in her food. "But thanks anyway."

"Oh, come on," he coaxed. "We hear that you're the life of the party."

Everyone at the table went very still. Sung looked back up, the color starting to drain from her face. "What have you heard?" She asked quietly.

"Oh, nothing much," the young man answered, his winning smile growing strained. "Just that you're quite the party girl. That's all."

"And who did you hear this from?" She continued.

"Oh, everybody knows," he said. Then he poked a thumb over his shoulder. "The Phi Kaps are telling everyone. Now every frat on campus wants you on the guest list."

All of them followed where he was pointing. Across the room was a table full of brothers of Phi Kappa Sigma. Darren was sitting in the middle of the table, and he noticed them looking his way. With a grin, he raised his cup in a mocking toast.

"I see," Sung said, turning back to her visitor. Her face had gone from golden to the color of bleached parchment. "That's very kind of you. Still," she turned her attention back to her plate. "Thank you, but no."

The grin finally slipped from his face. "Look, didn't you hear? I said everybody knows what happened. There's no point in playing hard to get."

Sung flinched and looked away.

Buffy had had enough. "She said no," She said firmly, crossing her arms and planting herself in front of him.

He ignored her. "Who do you think you are?" He said angrily. "You pull a train in Phi Kap, but you're too good for Alpha Gamma? I don't fucking _think_ so!"

His voice had risen to a shout and half the cafeteria was looking at them by the time he was done. The rest of the cafeteria was Not Looking, studiously staring at their meals.

Sung flinched again and lowered her head further. Althea started to her feet and Buffy took a step forward.

"I said leave her alone," Buffy ordered.

"Shut up, bitch, this is none of your business," he snarled, not even looking at her as he focused on Sung.

Buffy's arms uncrossed and her fists clenched. She was an instant away from punching him so hard that they'd _never_ be able to put his jaw back together properly when another voice came out of the milling cafeteria crowd.

"That's my _girlfriend _you just called a bitch, Lewis," This voice said. "That's _my _business."

Riley, Forrest, and Graham stepped out of the crowd. The now-identified Lewis took a nervous step away from the table. Something _else_ everybody knew about was what had happened to Parker Abrams when he'd spoken ill of Riley's girlfriend.

"She said no," Forrest menaced. "Take it as an answer and move on."

"Yes, sir," Lewis said meekly before scurrying off into the crowd.

"Everything okay here?" Riley asked the table. By way of reply, all of the women turned to look at Sung.

Sung was clearly trying to keep her composure, but she was pale and trembling and still not looking up. "Yes," she answered, her voice still steady. "Thank you for your help." Her eyes started to glisten. "I think I'd better go now, though," she said. "I'm not hungry any more."

"We can come with," Willow offered, rising to her feet as Sung did.

"No, that's okay," Sung said, snatching up her backpack. "Stay and finish your supper."

"I don't—"

"_Please,_" Sung interrupted, her voice breaking. Willow froze. Sung took advantage of that moment to hurry out the door and away.

----

"Are _you_ okay?" Riley asked Buffy quietly.

"Why didn't he listen to me, Riley?" Was her answer, her face and voice deceptively calm. "Why did he act like I wasn't even there, but go away the moment you told him to?"

"I don't know," he replied. He wasn't fooled by the mildness. Best to calm her now, discuss it later.

"Yes, you do," she said steadily. "_I _know. I just want to hear someone say it out loud."

Riley sighed. She _did_ know. Any attempt to sugar-coat it would just make her angrier. "He didn't listen to you because you're a tiny woman, and he listened to me because I'm a big, hulking farmboy."

Buffy looked up at him steadily, her eyes filling up with fire.

"He's an idiot, Buffy. He doesn't realize—"

Without saying a word, Buffy turned on her heel and started to walk across the cafeteria.

"Buffy—!"

----

Buffy slammed her hands down on the Phi Kap table, rattling dishes down its entire length and putting some cracks into it, though no one noticed those at the time.

She glared down at Darren, who only looked startled for a moment before returning to the smug grin that gave the lie to the winning smile and soulful eyes of the week before.

"Haven't you done enough to her already, you bastard?" She demanded

"I did who to the what now?" Darren asked, raising a chuckle from his friends.

"You know who I'm talking about," Buffy retorted, her voice dangerously calm. Anyone who knew her would have been considering flight. "You're the ones who are spreading lies about her."

Darren didn't know her. "I wouldn't call them _lies_…" He said. "She's telling her side of the story, I'm telling mine."

"We both know what really happened that night," she said. "And it was _nothing_ like 'your side of the story'."

"How do you know that?" One of the brothers scoffed. " 'Cause she told you?"

"Did she tell you how much of a little slut she is, too?" Another taunted. "She was totally gagging for it, but of course she doesn't want anybody to know that."

Buffy's grip tightened spasmodically on the table, leaving finger-marks on the surface. But she didn't look away from Darren. Their eyes met, and the grin faded from his face. Time to take this seriously.

"You know that Sung is pressing charges," she said. "How many times have you done this before? With your nickname, I'm betting a lot—and I'm betting a lot of them will come forward."

The brothers of Phi Kap started looking at each other uneasily, but Darren never dropped Buffy's gaze. "You sound like you're on the edge of making some pretty serious accusations," he said. "If you do, you'd better have either some pretty solid proof or a good lawyer."

Buffy's face clouded with confusion as he stood, planted his hands on the table, and leaned across, forcing her to straighten and look up at him.

"I'm already suing that slant-eyed little piggy for slander," he said softly. "The night of the party, she was all 'me rove you rong time', but the morning after, she has some second thoughts. So she cries rape. Typical. Well, she and that half-breed family of hers will be living out of Alpo cans pretty soon. Once word of that gets out, I don't think anybody else is going to try to smear my good name."

Buffy could hear her heart pounding in her ears, and feel the adrenaline saturating her blood, turning her muscles into coils of crushing fury. She'd never felt this kind of rage toward a human being before. Not toward Quentin Travers, maybe not even toward Faith. She wanted to kill him. She wanted to reach out and snap his neck, rid the world of this woman-eating monster. No, better yet, she wanted to grab him and drag him across the table and hit him until he hurt as much as Sung did, as much as Willow did, as much as she did. Smash his face so he had to bait his woman-trap with something else. Make _him _live in fear—like Willow, who "wasn't interested" in going to any more parties, like Sung, who couldn't even go to _dinner_ now.

It was going to happen. She could already see it. Then a big hand settled on her shoulder. She was about to shake it off, or maybe even break it, when Riley's voice penetrated the red haze that was filling her mind. "Buffy. Come on. Let's go back to the table. He isn't worth it."

"Oh, I think he is," Buffy rumbled.

"He deserves it, no question," Riley said, too softly for any of the Phi Kaps to hear. "But _you_ don't deserve what'll happen if you _do_ crush him."

Buffy stared at Darren's now smugly-grinning face for another moment before taking a deep breath and allowing Riley to lead her away.

"Better keep your girlfriend on a tighter leash, Finn," Darren called after them. "She almost got in more trouble than she could handle."

"You don't know how big a favor I just did for you, Edwards," Riley replied. "Don't make me regret it any more than I already do."

Darren said something that Riley couldn't quite make out, though Buffy was able to hear something about how terrified he was of a tiny bleach-blond valley bimbo. The brothers of Phi Kappa Sigma burst into laughter as the Slayer and the field-leader of the Initiative returned to their table.


	6. Interlude  Conflict of Interest

"I wanted to kill him, Giles," Buffy said. "It wasn't a 'temper' or a 'fit of pique' or any other way you might want to Britishize it. I didn't want to just slap his face and move on. I wanted to kill him."

After a silent, sullen, and quickly-eaten dinner, Buffy had fled the UC Sunnydale campus for Giles' house, where she now sat on his couch, staring into space with a cup of hot cocoa (which Giles now kept along with his tea) cooling in her hands. Giles sat in a nearby armchair with a cup of Earl Gray, listening. Xander and Anya, who had also stopped by for a visit—and to sell magazine subscriptions—listened from the kitchen, where they were preparing their own snacks.

"Very well then," Giles said. "I shan't try to 'Britishize' it. It's a good thing Riley stopped you."

"Is it?" Buffy demanded.

"The world has only one Slayer, Buffy," he began. Then he paused for a moment, recalculating. "Well, two, but the other went rogue and is now in a coma."

"Which should serve as a warning to you!" Anya called from the kitchen.

Giles sighed and bowed his head, as if praying for strength. "Anya, please. This is serious."

"I wasn't kidding. I was trying to assist you in delivering your high-minded lecture."

Giles sighed again.

Anya turned to Xander. "That wasn't the appropriate response?"

Xander shook his head. "Giles likes to do his own high-minded lectures. Nice try, though."

"This isn't a joke, Xander!" Giles snapped. "Buffy is no use to the world from a prison cell!" He turned back to Buffy. "And even if you thought you could get away with it, turning your powers on humans is a path you don't want to start down."

Buffy leaned forward and locked eyes with him. "Actually, I think I do."

Giles was taken aback. He stared back at her, trying to formulate a response, until Xander dropped onto the end of the couch opposite Buffy. "I know it's not a joke," he said softly. "You're the one who's not getting it. Buffy's the Slayer. She's supposed to fight evil. So she goes out every night and she kills vampires and demons and all the oogie-boogies that go bump in the night. But she runs into this _human_ monster, and she can't touch him."

"Racism if you ask me," Spike called from the bathroom.

"No one did," Xander called back.

"Come on—seriously! If it was me pulling this shite, I'd already be dust."

"Remind me again why you _aren't_?" Buffy called menacingly.

That shut him up. Xander continued after a moment's pause to be sure that he wouldn't be interrupted again. "In fact, not only can't she touch him, as the Slayer, she has to _protect _him."

"There are human institutions…" Giles protested weakly.

"They're failing," Anya interrupted. "They always do." She sighed as she sat down beside Xander. "By the horns of D'Hoffryn, I wish I still had my powers. This is just the kind of job I could get creative with and really _enjoy_."

For once, this oft-repeated wish was met with nods and murmurs of agreement. After that, the conversation fell into a lull, and probably would have moved on to another topic. After all, no topic, no matter how dire, can occupy _all_ of a person's attention, _all _of the time. In fact, Giles was just opening his mouth when the phone rang.

"Let the machine get it," Giles said, although no one had moved toward it.

"You have a machine?" Buffy teased.

"There are some pieces of twenty-first century technology that even Watchers approve of," Giles grinned back.

The phone rang four more times, then there was the click of the machine picking up. "Hello. This is—"

Willow's voice came on over the recorded message. "Buffy, are you there?"

"—Rupert Giles. Please leave your—"

"Buffy, if you're there, _please_ pick up the phone."

"—Name, number, and message—"

"Giles, if Buffy's not there and you see her, please send her home. I mean, our room."

"—at the tone."

Willow's voice broke. "Something awful has happened."

Giles leaped up and reached for the phone, but Buffy was already out the door.


	7. Something Awful

They hadn't seen a single vampire that night.

_Probably 'cause they're all in hiding,_ Willow thought as she watched Buffy pacing the graveyard plot. _Which they are, if they're smart. But then, how many vampires have we ever met that are smart? I mean, how many figure out that Buffy's the Slayer and then run away? Ohhh no, they just keep coming. _

"I don't _believe_ this town," Buffy said for the third or fourth time, interrupting Willow's reverie and giving the being-smarter-than-usual vampires yet more warning. "I mean, the 'gangs on PCP crap' is bad enough—how many gangs and how much PCP do they think there _is_ floating around in this town?—but suicide? How many people commit suicide by stabbing themselves in the throat with a barbecue fork?"

"Probably not a whole lot," Willow allowed sadly. "But I think they were able to pull it off this time because, well…they had a better-than-average candidate for suicide." She glanced at the grave that Buffy was pacing in front of. The grave that they had come for. Sung's grave.

Buffy ranted on as if she hadn't heard. "And where did all that blood supposedly go?" She demanded.

"We don't know, because there was no autopsy." Willow said bitterly. Again. It was both a reminder and an agreement.

"Which doesn't look at _all_ like a cover-up," Buffy growled. "Uh-uh, nothing like it."

"What _I_ can't believe is that the city went and buried her right away, before they even contacted the family." Willow declared heatedly. "Bureaucratic mix-up my hiney. I'm _glad_ her family is suing. I hope they take Sunnydale for everything it's got."

"But that won't matter," Buffy countered. "Because they'll just counter-sue and block and delay and keep the Olsens from digging Sung up until she's either dust or decayed and either way their asses are covered!" With that, Buffy spun around and kicked the nearest thing at hand—a gravestone, which sailed off into the night in four big, broken chunks and an assortment of granite powder and splinters.

Buffy stood still for a moment, looking at her handiwork. Then she said "ow" in a tiny voice and limped over to sit beside Willow.

"You know you just lost the right to ever pick on any guy for punching a wall," Willow said.

"I know," Buffy said. "That's okay. I think I understand why they do it now."

"Did it make you feel better?"

"A little. For a moment."

"Wow," Willow said wistfully. "Maybe I should try it."

Buffy shook her head. "I wouldn't if I were you. I'm the Slayer. You'd probably break something."

Willow pouted.

"Maybe you could—I don't know, blow something up," Buffy suggested.

Willow shook her head and sighed. "Too much work. Doesn't have the same primal impulse factor."

"Oh. Sorry, then."

Ordinarily, Willow probably would have continued with something about it not being Buffy's fault that she was all unbreakable. Instead, she just nodded and they fell silent for a moment, staring at Sung's grave.

"I hate this part, Will," Buffy said softly. "When they first rise from their graves, they haven't done anything wrong. Did you ever think about that?"

Willow shook her head. "But they _will_," She pointed out.

Buffy nodded. "Yes. They will. Because they always wake up hungry and they'll go out and kill and eat somebody if I don't kill them. So I do. And it's easy—hell, it's exciting. It's almost _fun_. If I don't think about it."

"Think about what?" Willow prompted. She had a pretty good idea what Buffy was going to say.

"That they used to be somebody," Buffy answered. "That's easy when it's just some stranger who I never met before they were a vampire. But this is Sung Olsen. I've met her. I maybe even know her a little. I've tried to help her. But now—" She paused. "She was victimized once, when she was alive, by Date-rape Darren. Then she was victimized _again_ by the vampire, and it killed her. Now, if she rises up out of that grave, I'm going to have to kill her again, even though she hasn't done anything wrong. Yet. And that just sucks beyond all telling."

----

Sung Olsen didn't rise up out of her grave that night. Buffy greeted the sunrise with a sigh of relief, shook Willow awake, and returned to the dorm.

That day, the case against Darren Edwards the Third was dropped for lack of a plaintiff. Buffy gritted her teeth and spent the next three hours destroying one of the punching bags in the Initiative—and that night slaughtering as much of the vampire population of Sunnydale as she could get her hands on—but resigned herself to the fact that he was going to get away with it. There wasn't a damn thing she could do about it. She was the Slayer, he was human, he was out of her jurisdiction. Case closed, however disappointingly. Move on.

Wrong.

Open Case

The next few weeks were bad ones for the women of UC Sunnydale. For the first thing, Phi Kap had a big party to celebrate Darren being cleared of all charges. Bad enough. But there was worse to come.

----

"Two dozen. In the last three weeks," Willow said, hitting one last key on her laptop, then turning it around to display the colorful screen to Buffy and Riley. "That's a spike in the graph, even for Sunnydale."

Riley leaned across the table—one of the round iron ones outside the student union—then leaned back in his chair and sighed. Buffy kept looking intently at the graph Willow had drawn, one where a red line came to a sharp peak while a blue line remained flat. "And _all_ of the extras were female students here at UC Sunnydale?" She asked.

Willow nodded. "The program allows for the standard background level of deaths, disappearances, and random badness in Sunnydale. It only shows deviations from the norm."

Buffy nodded in acknowledgement. "Any connections?" She asked.

"Other than they've all disappeared?" Riley said. "Just one that we know of. They all left very similar notes: 'I'm sorry, I won't be back, don't come looking for me'—something like that. I can get copies from the evidence locker if that'll help."

"It may," Willow said, turning her laptop back around and starting to tap at the keys again. "I've tried everything else, and I haven't found a single common denominator. They're all different races, different economic classes, different physical types, different class years, a couple different nationalities…I've looked and looked, but they don't share a single factor."

"They do share one," a voice from behind them announced.

All three of them whipped around.

"Parker! Hi!" Willow greeted him. "We're just—uh, we're—"

"That's okay," Parker said, sitting down at the table. "I won't ask you any questions, so you won't need to tell me any lies."

The other three fell silent and watched him warily. Without a word, he pulled Willow's laptop over and examined the screen for a few moments, grim, unsurprised confirmation on his face. When he was done, he pushed it back to her. "You two are freshwomen," he said, nodding at Willow and Buffy. They both scowled, but nodded back. "And you, Finn, you just transferred in this year. That's why you don't know." He pulled the laptop back over and turned it around to face the other three. "Every one of these girls," he said, tapping on the screen. "Is someone that Darren got to."

Buffy, Riley, and Willow gaped first at him, then at each other in astonishment and horror.

And realization.

"Oh, my God," Willow breathed.

"Thank you, Parker," Buffy said, in a way that was clearly a dismissal, if a grateful one.

"Glad I could help," Parker said, rising to his feet.

"Parker," Riley called before Parker could go far.

"Yeah?"

"How long did you eavesdrop on us?" Riley asked.

"Just the last couple seconds as I was walking up. I was coming to talk to you about that anyway."

"Why?" Buffy asked.

Parker shrugged. "It's hard to miss what's been happening around here. I just figured that this was the kind of helping people you were good at." With that he turned and left.

----

"Willow?" Buffy said as she watched Parker go.

"Yeah?"

"Remember when Sung told us that Darren sent her across campus, by herself, at four in the morning?"

"Yep."

"When she said that, I wondered if he was hoping she'd get eaten, so he didn't cause her any trouble later."

"But she didn't," Willow said. "So she did. Get eaten. Cause trouble. I mean—oh, you know what I mean."

"Right," Buffy agreed. "So now that he's got real trouble for the first time, just how far would he go to make sure it went away? There's plenty of Hellmouthy things that like money just as much as anyone. Vampires come to mind. Maybe that barbecue fork was _paid_ to stab her in the neck."

Riley frowned doubtfully. "I don't know," he said. "Darren's definitely a suspect, but why take it that extra step? Not everyone in Sunnydale knows about HST's. Especially not people like Darren who just came here for college."

Buffy shrugged. "Call it a hunch." She paused for a moment, looked at Willow, then grinned sharply. "Better yet, call it a hypothesis. Now I go out and start gathering data, see if the evidence supports it."

Riley was momentarily dumbfounded. Buffy put her hands together and bowed to Willow, who did the same in return.

"I, and High-school science, have taught you well, young grasshopper."


	8. Manhunt

It took Buffy a week to find the vampire that had killed Sung. Originally, she had thought that doing so would be impossible, even if the vampire hadn't left town or been dusted in her rampage after Sung's death. Vampires remembered individual victims the way people remembered individual meals, so trying to find the right vampire in Sunnydale wasn't like trying to find a needle in a haystack so much as it was like trying to find a piece of hay that was the exact right shade of yellow.

Fortunately for Buffy's search, Sung had been rather distinctive-looking.

----

"Yeah, yeah, sure," the vampire said, cutting a quick glance at the picture Buffy held in one hand, while he swatted contemptuously at her other arm, which was holding him pinned against the wall of Willy's Bar. "That's the little Chinee girl I ate."

"She was Vietnamese," Buffy gritted out, twisting her hand in his shirt and pushing him against the wall even harder. This vamp apparently thought of himself as some kind of badass. He was certainly dressed like one—from the nineteen-forties. Bomber jacket and all. That also meant that she was dealing with her grandfather's racial sensitivities here. At best. Well, she wasn't interested in humoring either of his delusions.

"She had slanted eyes and a yellow streak in her hair—it was the chicky in the picture. What else do you want?" He demanded. He tried to pull away, but Buffy slammed him against the wall this time.

"Now I want answers to the _rest_ of my questions," she answered.

Captain Bomber Jacket reached out and pushed her away. "I'm about done answering questions, you little bi—" He screamed as Buffy buried a stake in his gut. Then she tore it out, grabbed him by the shirt again, slammed him against the wall hard enough to rattle the boards, and laid the point against his chest.

"I think I've been called a bitch just about enough these past few weeks," Buffy whispered in his face, leaning in until their noses were nearly touching.

"Okay!" The vampire sobbed. "Okay, okay! Ask your questions! Ask your questions!"

"Uh, hey, Slayer, uh—" Willy began diffidently. He'd come out from behind the bar, but stopped well outside Buffy's reach. "Do you think you could—"

"Willy," Buffy said in the same deadly calm she'd been using to address the vampire, "I'm working on a case right now. A case that I take _very_ personally. If you interfere with this investigation, I will cripple you."

Willy blinked, then returned to the bar without another word.

"Since everyone else in this bar is a demon," Buffy continued, raising her voice but not changing her tone. "I will simply kill you if you interfere."

A group of vampires that had been standing to help their buddy quietly returned to their seats.

Buffy turned her attention back to Captain Bomber Jacket. "You see how it is," she said casually.

"What is this chi…this girl to you?" Captain Bomber Jacket asked.

"I'm the one asking the questions," Buffy said. "And the first is: do you know a guy named Darren Edwards?"

"Who?"

Buffy released his shirt and pulled a picture of Darren—a surveillance photo from the Initiative—out of her pocket. "Him."

The vampire shook his head. "Never seen him before."

"Careful. Whatever he's paying you won't do much good if you're dust," Buffy warned, pressing just a little harder on the stake.

"He's not paying me anything! How could he be paying me anything if I've never met the man in my entire—if I've never met him?"

Buffy returned the picture to her pocket. "Better be sure," she said. "You see, Mr. Edwards has been preying on women at UC Sunnydale for a long time, in his own way. Not as long as you have, of course. Now, his problem is that his way leaves survivors behind. For three years, he's been lucky. None of them have fought back. But now, one finally has. He may be in real trouble for the first time. Know who that one was?"

"The girl in the picture?" The vampire suggested tremulously.

"Right," Buffy nodded. "Her name is Sung. She fought back, and she was in a position to get him in a lot of trouble, no matter how good his family's lawyers are. So suddenly, one night, she dies. It doesn't really look like suicide, but the Sunnydale Coverup Machine calls it that, and she's buried. Case closed and our boy's in the clear because oops, no plaintiff."

"Oops," the vampire said weakly.

"Right. Now, that's all bad enough. But as the weeks pass, Darren's other victims start disappearing, too. And they _all_ look like suicide. Do you know what that looks like to me?"

The vampire shook his head.

"It looks to me like his close call scared him pretty good, and now he's covering his tracks. The same way he did before."

"Sounds good," the vampire agreed, nodding frantically. "Just one problem."

"Which is?"

"If I was supposed to make sure that this, uh, Sung kept her mouth shut, then why did I sire her?"

Buffy froze. "You what?"

"It can be hard not to, when you've just drank somebody dry and you're completely fueled up—it's like when you're alive and you've promised to pull out, but – "

"Okay, enough, I get the idea," Buffy interrupted, her face wrinkling in disgust.

"But I wouldn't have done it if I was getting paid to shut someone's mouth," Captain Bomber Jacket babbled on. "It'd kinda defeat the point, wouldn't it?"

"Yes, it would," Buffy said, her eyes far away, thinking furiously. Then she refocused her attention on Captain Bomber Jacket. "If you're lying, I'll find you," she promised.

He held up his hands. "I'm squaring with you. On my mother's grave."

She gave him one last suspicious glare, then she released him with one last shove and ran out the door.

Captain Bomber Jacket took a moment to dust himself off, straighten his jacket, and gather his dignity about him. He looked around the room, but everyone was still studiously Looking Away.

"Crazy bitch," he muttered.

A stake flew in through the door and dusted him.

Willy shook his head. "She told him she was sick of being called that."

Intuition

"Hello. This is Willow."

"Willow, this is Buffy. Is—"

"Oh, hi Buffy. What's going on? Did you find something, or is this just, you know, social. Because—"

"Will! Is there a party at Phi Kap tonight?"

"Is it a day between Wednesday and Monday?"

"Right. Dumb question. Will, I've figured out what's going on, and I promise I'll explain later, but I have to go now. I have to stop it."

"Wait, Buffy. Just give me a minute to get some stuff and I'll help—"

_Click_

Willow stared at the dial-toning phone.

"—you."

----

Open. The grave had been open. And empty. Not a grave-robbing or exhumation with shovels or backhoes, but the familiar hand-dug burrow.

Buffy had told Riley that her idea about Darren's hired assassin was a hunch before she'd called it a hypothesis. Now she realized it was neither. It had been a conclusion she'd jumped to, based on one connection and her hatred of Darren Edwards.

But upon seeing that empty grave, she'd remembered that there were other people who hated Darren Edwards, some even more than she did. And she knew what had been happening.

Then came the hunch. And a hunch was nothing so weak as a hypothesis or a guess or a jumped conclusion. Perhaps it was even a prophecy, like her dreams. But whatever it was, she knew what was happening. And where. And she knew that it was happening _right now_, and that she needed to stop it.

Buffy hung up the phone and started to run.

Slaughterhouse

Buffy raced through the woods, her boots hardly seeming to touch the trail. She hurdled a fallen tree and once again thought about how UC Sunnydale seemed set up perfectly, not as a place for humans to live but as a place for demons to feed. Wild forest surrounded the campus, even snaking a few tendrils in among the lawns and quads and heavily-shrubbed pathways. Night-things could come and go without being seen by any but their victims.

But then, Buffy was a night-thing herself.

Fraternity Row was set particularly far back in the woods, and Buffy had to wonder whether Richard Wilkins had designed the campus himself. Fraternity Row was the highest concentration of drunk and unwary people on campus. A veritable buffet.

_There_.

She spotted the low stone wall that formed the border of Phi Kap's back lawn.

As she drew closer, the house came into sight, and she knew that she'd been right. Screams were coming from inside and flames were starting to rise in some of the windows.

Buffy hurdled the wall and flew across the lawn. The back door was closed, but she didn't even slow down. She just lowered her shoulder and charged right on through.

----

The back door of the Phi Kappa Sigma house was solid oak. Buffy hit it hard enough to break it, but the frame gave way first. The door flew open, sending splinters of the frame flying through the room, and Buffy charged in.

The interior of the house was in ruins. The furniture was broken. The big-screen TV in the den had been kicked in. Trophies and plaques had been pulled off the wall. About half the lights were out and those that remained were flickering, turning the house into a dim, strobelike nightmarescape. Perhaps the electrical system had been damaged.

Some of the brothers had tried to fight. They were the ones lying broken on the floor—some groaning, some silent. Others had apparently tried to escape to their rooms. Those were the rooms that were going up in flames.

The brothers who could still move had been herded into the den, and were now standing surrounded by a group of familiar-looking young women.

Of course they looked familiar. She'd seen their faces quite a few times in the Initiative's files of the girls who'd gone missing. The fact that some of them were manifesting their vampiric faces made little difference. She was too used to it.

Buffy paused when she saw that the girls were just holding the brothers in place, rather than starting to eat. Then she started walking. Maybe she could talk through this, instead of taking on a rather pointless fight with close onto two dozen vamps.

"I know what you're here for," she announced as she approached them. They whirled on her and snarled into vamp face, but she forced herself to keep calm. "Darren hurt all of you, and you want revenge. I'm on board with that. But you know I can't let you hurt them."

She pointed at the brothers of Phi Kap, who were staring at her incredulously.

"Can't let?" One of the vampiresses, who'd been a Philosophy major named Rachel a week before, chuckled. An ugly, half-bestial sound. "Maybe you haven't noticed how many of us there are. I don't care if you are the Slayer, you aren't 'letting' us do anything."

Buffy shrugged. "True. If I fight all of you, you'll kill me. But a lot of you will die first. Is it really worth it? I don't even see Darren here."

"Sung called dibs on him," an athletic, red-haired vamp who'd once been a Phys. Ed. Major from Kentucky, answered. "It's her right as our sire."

Buffy had to stop herself from nodding. Her hunch had been correct. "What did she offer you?" She demanded. "Power? Revenge? Well, wake up! _She's_ the one who's getting her revenge on Darren. You're just playing zookeeper."

"You think they're innocent?" Another—one former Mary Beth Wilson of Wisconsin—demanded.

"No," Buffy answered. "They knew what he was doing, and not only didn't they stop it, they helped. They covered up. And they laughed at you. I know. Believe me, I know, and I've wanted to kill them, too. But I can't let you."

Mary Beth shook her head. Her vampiric mask vanished, revealing a fresh-scrubbed, freckle-spattered face with boyishly-short, sun-blond hair. She could have been Riley's sister. "Do you really think that's all they did? Just sat around and watched the fun and never participated?"

Buffy stared back blankly, struck dumb. She realized that she _had_ believed that. But then, she'd been too focused on Darren to consider it much.

"Want to know what they did to me?" Mary Beth continued. "They bent me over a pool table when I was too falling-down drunk to do otherwise and—let's see, what did they call it?—ran a train on me. Those are the men you're protecting."

Buffy almost puked then and there, but she fought it down. The taste of bile wouldn't leave her mouth for the rest of the night, however. For one brief, blazing moment, she wanted to turn around and walk out. Let the vampiresses do whatever the hell they wanted to these scumbags who didn't deserve the title 'men'. After all, that put them in the same category as Xander, Giles, Riley, and even Parker.

But she was the Slayer. She defended humans. Period. She didn't get to judge who lived and who died.

She picked up a pool cue from the table where one of the brothers—Buffy thought it was the one who had told her that Sung had been "gagging for it"—sprawled, white and drained.

"I didn't know that," Buffy said as she gripped the cue like a quarterstaff and set herself. "But I'm not surprised. That's why I'm giving you a chance to walk out of here."

Mary Beth snarled her demon face back into place and started stalking toward her, along with about half of the guards. "Some things are worth dying for, even for us," Mary Beth said. "Worth giving up a chance at forever. And yes, we do hate them _that_ much."

"And guess what, you traitorous little bitch," Rachel growled. "You're in our way."

Then they lunged.

They were young and weak—just barely out of the grave. Their speed was just slightly more than human, and their blows lacked the crushing power of the Master, Angelus, or even Spike.

Unfortunately, there were a _lot_ of them.

Once upon a time, when she was young and weak herself, Buffy would have been overwhelmed almost immediately. But she wasn't young and weak anymore—she'd been the Slayer for five years. Untrained instincts had been honed and practiced until they became muscle memory. Her eyes picked out every opening for her to slip through or thrust her pool cue into. She heard the whistle of a coming blow in time to duck or block or twist away. Mary Beth exploded into dust in the initial charge, and Rachel went staggering away, clutching her broken jaw. Buffy swept the feet out from one of her attackers, dislocated the knee of another with a well-placed kick; staked one with a thrust of her pool cue and smashed the teeth of another with the backthrust when she yanked it out.

But there were too many. The one whose teeth she'd smashed fell to the floor stunned, but another stepped over her and landed a kidney punch. Buffy rolled with the punch and spun around into a high kick, sending the kidney-puncher flying, but the Phys. Ed. Major took the opportunity to kick her in the hip from the other side. It staggered Buffy just enough. They began to pile on.

That was when the windows exploded.

Initiative members in fatigues and masks, wielding tasers with wooden-stake bayonets, began pouring in through the windows and doors. The vampiresses forgot all about Buffy and their prisoners as they turned to meet this new threat.

A particularly big agent stepped up to Buffy's side. He didn't take off his mask—there were civilians present, after all—but Buffy recognized him anyway.

"How did you know?" She asked.

"Willow called me," Riley answered. "And had me call up a strike force. It's a good thing she did, too." She could all but see him frowning in disapproval under his mask. "It wasn't too wise coming here without calling for backup," he chided. "You didn't know many—"

"I was in a hurry," Buffy interrupted, cutting off his lecture (_a TA to the bone, even when he's being a Special Agent_). "I still am, in fact. I need to find Darren."

That was when a scream erupted from upstairs.

Buffy and Riley looked at each other. Found.

"It's mine," Buffy said, already starting for the stairway.

----

Buffy kicked the door to Darren's room down, and both inhabitants froze.

The room itself was nothing but a pile of wreckage. Every piece of furniture smashed, phone torn from one wall and crushed against another, posters ripped down. TV, VCR, computer, and a stereo system that must have cost a third of Joyce Summers' yearly income lay in shards of glass, metal, and plastic on the floor. One or two were still plugged in, so the piles of clothes that they lay on were starting to smolder.

Darren himself wasn't in much better shape. Both of his legs, one of his arms, and most of his fingers skewed off from his body at angles that nature had never intended. His shirt had been torn off to reveal fist-sized spots on his ribs that were nearly black. His face was beaten just as badly—one of his eyes was swollen entirely shut, while the other could open halfway at best. His nose was a flattened bulb, and his swollen, half-open mouth revealed missing teeth.

Sung looked pretty much how Buffy had expected her to. She was in the midst of snapping what looked like a high school trophy in two when Buffy entered. Calmly, she finished doing so and dropped both pieces on Darren before turning to face the new arrival. The heavy base bounced off Darren's ribs, drawing another scream.

"Heff me," Darren pleaded. "Pleaf, you haff to heff me."

"Shut up," Buffy said coldly. Then she turned her attention to Sung. "You know that we have to fight in a minute, right?"

Sung nodded. "Of course."

"Before we do, though, I just have one question."

"What's that?"

"How?" Buffy asked, her face completely perplexed. "I was there the night after you were killed, and you never showed. Yet here you stand, pointy teeth and all. How does that work?"

"Don't jutht thtand there talking to her, you thtupid bitth! Heff me!"

Sung turned and kicked Darren in the ribs, drawing another scream. When he subsided into sobs, she turned back. "Sorry about that," she apologized.

Buffy just nodded and waved her on. The Slayer had started at a vampire torturing a human. Buffy Summers, on the other hand, found that she could handle Darren Edwards' suffering a little bit longer.

"As for your question," Sung continued. "It's actually pretty simple, but it's kinda airy-sounding. I'm not sure if you'll buy it."

"Try me," Buffy prompted.

"Have you ever talked to a vampire before staking them?" Sung asked.

Buffy nodded.

"Then I'm sure they've told you how it feels: a darkness bigger than anything you can imagine fills the place where your soul used to be, and suddenly you're part of eternity. You're more than you ever were before—you feel like a god."

"So I've heard," Buffy agreed.

"But it was different for me," Sung said. "I didn't know it at the time, but I've met other vampires since and I know I'm different somehow. The darkness didn't just make me stronger or faster, it let me _know _things. Things I couldn't possibly know. I could _feel_ you walking around over my grave. I could feel your anger, and I could see you blazing in the darkness. You have darkness inside you, but you were also a light bright enough to burn me away. Light and darkness—I didn't stand a chance. So I waited."

"Makes sense." Buffy had met 'special' vampires before. The Master, who'd had all his hocus-pocus tricks and who'd left a skeleton behind was one. Kakistos had needed a bit more stake than the norm. But then, they were both so old and powerful that the human had been wearing away and revealing the demon beneath. A better comparison was to Drusilla, who'd been special when she was alive. That probably meant that Sung had been, too. Suddenly, Buffy hated Darren more than she ever had before. He and Captain Bomber Jacket had found something absolutely unique and precious, and had decided to destroy it. Captain Bomber Jacket had an excuse—he was a blood-drinking night monster. Besides, she'd already killed him. But Darren had a soul. He was supposed to know better.

There was nothing Buffy wanted to do more at that moment than turn around and walk out the door. But that wasn't among her options. She was the Slayer. She protected humans. Besides, even if she let Darren die, she didn't even want to _think_ about the kind of master vampire that Sung would become if she was allowed even a little more time.

"I know that you have to kill me," Sung said, interrupting Buffy's reverie. "And I know that I don't have the power to stop you. Maybe if I'd had just a little more time…" she shrugged and left it hanging. "I just have one last request."

"What's that?" Buffy asked. She had a pretty good idea.

"Let me kill him," Sung said. "That's all I ask. Don't think of it as revenge or punishment, if you're not down with that. Think of it as protecting all the women he'll go on to rape down the years if you let him live."

Buffy gravely considered it, stroking her chin as she watched Darren shaking his head desperately. He didn't dare to speak, but he whimpered pleadingly.

Buffy dropped her hand as she reached a decision and turned her attention back to Sung. "Do what you have to do," she said.

----

Darren shook his head wildly as the goo—_Sung, her name was Sung, as she'd reminded as she'd broken three fingers one after another_—knelt above him, straddling his legs. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be happening. It just couldn't. The slant-eyed little—_Sung! Sung!_—whose death had solved so many problems for him had just shown up out of nowhere an hour ago, and not only was she not dead, she was impossibly strong. Then this little blond twat who'd given him so much trouble showed up, and Sung starts talking to the blond about being able to kill her but _she won't help! She won't help! She's going to let me die!_

"No," he begged—after all, he had nothing to lose by talking now—"Pleaf heff. Pleaf don't. Pleaf don't let her do thith. Pleaf heff me! Heff me!"

"Hush," Sung said, laying a cold finger on his swollen lips. "I'm on top this time, lover."

Then she slid her other hand into his pants and squeezed. Pain sent white hot tendrils shooting out into his guts and down his legs, and if he hadn't thrown up everything in his stomach the first time she'd hit him there, he would have now. Things were rupturing inside him, they had to be, and he couldn't even _breathe_ the pain was so—

"Awww, what's the matter, lover?" Sung asked from the other side of the galaxy. "Don't like my handjob? How about just a kiss to say good night, then?"

She leaned in close, like she was indeed planning to kiss him. But then leaned down further, to his neck, and then there was more pain.

It was a pain unlike any he had experienced. He'd been about to pass out from the crushing pain in his crotch, but this sharp, drilling pain brought him back.

"_Oh, God!_" He screamed. "_Oh, God, it hurts!_"

But the pain was relentless, twin razors digging through skin and muscle and tendon.

"_Make it stop make it stop oh please make it stop!_"

Some deep, animal part of him realized that the all the pain that went before had meant nothing. Those razors were digging for his _life_, the blood that bubbled so close to the surface. Nothing else mattered.

He pushed uselessly at Sung with his unbroken arm, not even feeling the pain from his splintered fingers.

"_Please! I'll do anything! Anything!_" He begged. "_Just help me! Oh, God, please…_help me…" In addition to the pain, he now felt a horrible _draining_. Sung was emptying him, sucking him dry like an orange.

But despite all his pleading, the blond simply stood at the door, watching. Hard-eyed. And as his own vision started to fade, he knew it would be the last thing he ever saw.

Then, abruptly, it was over. Sung vanished into nowhere, and he tasted ashes in his mouth.

He dared to open his less-swollen eye, and looked up. The blond was standing over him, slipping a sharp piece of wood into her sleeve.

"That's what it's like," she said coldly. "That's how it feels to be absolutely helpless against someone who thinks that you're not even human—that you're just a piece of shit who doesn't deserve anything but to be treated like one. That's how it feels to be in the hands of someone who can do anything they want with you—and who only wants to hurt you. That's how it feels to be a _victim_."

She paused and crouched beside him. "You've made a lot of women on this campus feel that way. Did you like it?"

Darren shook his head weakly.

"No?" She stood and wiped her hands on her pants, as if they'd been soiled just by being near him. "Then let me tell you what's going to happen. As soon as you can talk, you're going to call the police, and you're going to confess everything. Every detail, every name—everything. When you get to court, you will plead guilty, and you will not let your lawyer make any deals. You will go to jail as long as the law will send you."

Darren began shaking his head again. _Doesn't she understand? If I go to prison, they'll line up out the _door_ to ass-fuck_ _a rich white boy like me…if I even make it there alive. If I rat out my brothers, they'll kill me!_

"Don't tell me no," she said. "I can make this happen again."

Darren froze.

"There are others like her—oh, believe it—and I know plenty. If you don't do exactly what I've told you to do, I'll talk to the ones I know. They'll spread the word that the Slayer will owe anyone a favor if they get you. You won't be safe anywhere. Do you believe me?"

Darren nodded.

"Are you going to be a good boy?"

Darren nodded again.

"Good." She paused then, looking down at him thoughtfully. He didn't want to know what she was thinking about—her eyes were glacial. "Live in fear, Darren," she said softly. Then she turned and walked out the door.

----

Buffy descended the stairs much slower than she'd climbed them. She was tired. So terribly tired. Not physically, though there was indeed a bit of fatigue. But emotionally, she was weary to the bone

_What the hell am I fighting for?_

She'd just staked Sung to protect Darren. Just because he was human.

Human. She thought about Oz. And Angel. And Darren Edwards the third.

_What the hell am I fighting for?_

Her bruises throbbed. Usually, she wouldn't even notice them. Tonight, they hurt. Because they didn't seem worth it. Neither did the effort of moving her body forward.

She reached the bottom of the stairs and trudged into the den. When she saw what was waiting there, her mind ground to a halt. Her feet took a few more steps, then did the same.

The brothers of Phi Kappa Sigma were gone—either fled or quarantined—and piles of ash littered the floor. Except for Riley, the agents of the Initiative stood around clapping each other on the back and grinning triumphantly. Riley was talking into his radio, his face still all business.

None of those sights were what had caused the gears in Buffy's mind to seize up.

Four of Sung's followers had survived the battle, and lay unconscious on the floor.

Riley spotted Buffy and hurried over, but Forrest noticed her at the same time—and _he_ was standing right next to her.

"Hey, Agent Summers," he greeted her. Something he and the other agents had started calling her. They'd intended it as a gesture of respect. "Glad we got here in time to save your reckless ass? And look: we even managed to capture a few lab specimens."

That was when Riley arrived, but he knew he was already too late. All he could manage was a weak "Buffy—" as she started forward.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "No more."

It had been little more than a whisper, but the Initiative agents turned to her, the smiles fading from their faces.

Buffy pulled her stake back out of her sleeve and the agents took a step back. "No more 'lab specimens'," she said, her voice rising. She dropped to one knee and staked the first unconscious vampiress, who dissolved silently into ash—too far gone to even give a death shriek.

"Hey!" Forrest shouted. He started forward, but Riley caught him by the arm. Forrest turned back and stared incredulously at his friend, who was just shaking his head.

"No more girls drugged and sleeping—" Louder.

Stake. Silent fall of ash.

"No more naked and helpless on beds or tables—" A shout.

Silent stab. The Initiative troops were standing back now, staring in genuine fright

"No more doing whatever the fuck you want to them! No!" A raw, half-wild shriek.

Ash. The last was gone, but Buffy kept stabbing at the floor, pounding and screaming "No more! No more! No more!" Until her stake splintered. Only then did she pause.

"They had enough of that when they were alive."

Then she broke down sobbing.

The Initiative soldiers all looked at each other uncomfortably.

"Walsh isn't going to be happy," Forrest said in a low voice to Riley. "We already told her we had specimens incoming."

"This case has been hard on Buffy," Riley said. "For once, I think Walsh will understand."

That said, he went over to Buffy. He briefly considered scooping her up in his arms, but decided against it. He suspected that it would be unwelcome at this point. Maybe that psychology major was good for something after all. Instead, he reached down and helped her to her feet. "Come on, Buffy," he said softly. "Let's get you home."

Debriefing

"I was pretty embarrassed in the morning, I can tell you that," Buffy said as she finished her story.

"I would imagine so," Giles agreed. "Still, I doubt anyone would hold it against you."

"Forrest does," Buffy said. "But then, Forrest looks for things to hold against me."

Giles shrugged. "One can't always please everyone."

"I guess not." Buffy fell silent and sipped at the cooling dregs of her hot cocoa.

Giles also sat in silence for a moment, sipping at his tea. There was more to say. Finally, he decided that there was no delicate way.

"If it's any comfort," he said. "You absolutely had to do it. Sung posed an enormous threat. Controlling a large group of vampires is rather like herding cats, but she managed to do so within the first month after she was sired. If she was telling the truth about her powers, she could have been greater than the Master."

Buffy nodded and sighed. "I know."

"And is it no comfort at all that Darren will receive his just desserts?"

Buffy shook her head. "Punishing the guilty is a piss-poor substitute for being there to save the innocent, Giles."

As had happened to him far too many times since Buffy Summers had entered his life, Rupert Giles had no answer.


	9. Epilogue

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Olsen:

We apologize for your loss, and we apologize even more deeply that our mistakes have added to your grief. An even more serious mistake occurred than we originally believed, and your daughter was not in fact buried, but cremated…

Late Night Phone Call

"Hello, Mr. Olsen?"

"This is Karl Olsen. Who is this?"

"I'm a friend."

"_Whose_ friend?"

"Sung's."

Silence.

"Whoever you are, this isn't a very good joke."

"It's not a joke, I swear. I knew Sung, and I want to help you."

"How can you 'help' me?"

"There are some things you deserve to know."

"Like?"

"Bad things happen in Sunnydale. I don't think I can _ever_ explain that to you—you'll just have to believe me. Bad things happen in Sunnydale, and there's people in the town who don't want anybody to know that. That's why all of these 'mistakes' with Sung's body happened. One of those bad things happened to her, and the people I mentioned are trying to cover it up."

"Do you have evidence for this? Because if you do, I'm the wrong person to be telling. You should go to the police."

"The police…wouldn't help. Mr. Olsen, I'm sorry I can't tell you more, but I want you to understand two very important things: one, Sung did not commit suicide. Two, her death has been avenged. I swear."

Silence.

"Do you believe me?"

Silence.

"Yes. I do."

"Does it help?"

Silence.

----

Buffy hung up the payphone. That was all she could do. More than she should have done, really. As Willow had said, this wasn't the kind of helping people she was good at.

Legal Repercussions

The Olsens received an urn of what were purported to be Sung's ashes. In point of fact, they were: one of the lower-ranking among Sunnydale's shadow government had simply scooped them off of Darren Edwards' floor. They also received a seven-digit settlement, and several expendable flunkies lost their jobs.

For all the good that did.

At first, it looked like Darren Edwards might get away with everything after all, confession or no. With no surviving victims, there could be no trial. Fortunately, it turned out that Sung had only vamped Darren's victims who were still enrolled at UC Sunnydale. Enough had transferred and graduated for him to be brought to trial, and be sent away for a collection of sentences that added up to well over his life expectancy.

The Phi Kappa Sigma house suffered such extensive damage from the attack and subsequent fires that it was condemned. In the end, that didn't matter, as the UC Sunnydale chapter of Phi Kappa Sigma had its charter revoked when Darren Edwards started to testify about what had gone on within its walls. The few surviving brothers who weren't charged with any crime transferred out anyway. None of them wanted to set foot on the campus of UC Sunnydale again. Ever.

Lights in the Night

Next Fall

Buffy covered her candle with her hand to protect it with the wind. Take Back The Night had returned to UC Sunnydale, and Willow had dragged her to it (with some help from Tara in the form of gentle nudging). Riley had been unable to come—papers to grade—and Xander had pointed out that if he went, then Anya would come, and bringing Anya risked a berserk rage. She'd been chosen as a demonic avenger of women for a reason.

Buffy marched willingly enough, but she wasn't singing. She'd never been much for singing. Besides, she was mostly here to protect the marchers from oogety-boogeties. For her, Take Back the Night presented a painful irony. In Sunnydale, the night had never belonged to anything human.

It was just as she was pondering this mournful fact that she bumped into someone. "Oh, I'm s—" She began automatically. Then she looked up and saw a familiar, but unexpected face. "Parker? What are you doing here?"

"Graduate work," he answered, falling into step beside her. "Sunnydale has a great language program. Call me unrealistic, but I dare to dream that I might have a future as a diplomat."

Buffy managed to crush the urge to smile. Even knowing what he was, it was hard not to be taken in by his charm. "No, I mean what are you doing at this rally? It doesn't seem like your scene."

He chuckled. "It is a dangerous place for me to be. A lot of my old, uh, opponents went kind of militant after meeting me, and a lot them are here. But…" He paused, and the grin faded from his face. "After what happened to Sung, I kind of felt the need to."

Buffy nodded. She hadn't thought about Sung in a while. She'd had yet another apocalypse to stop—Adam's, this time—and it had just pushed all non-world-wrecking evil from her mind.

"That changed me a little bit, you know?" Parker said as they kept walking.

"How?" Buffy asked, trying to keep her voice neutral. No need to treat him with suspicion yet.

"I always thought that the girls who were mad at me—like you—were just sore losers. I didn't see any reason for them to be mad if everybody had a good time. But that's because I wasn't there the next morning. That time, with Sung, I was there to see her cry."

"What you did to me and what Darren did to Sung are in different time zones from each other," Buffy pointed out.

"True," Parker agreed. "But I don't want to make anyone feel even a little like Sung did. So now I make it clear that I'm looking for good time, not long term." He paused. "I don't get laid as much anymore."

Buffy grinned back. No big surprise. "You know, you _could_ get a girlfriend. You'd probably get sex more regularly, and you wouldn't have to start the hunt all over each time."

"Get domesticated? Me?" Parker asked, a look of half-serious horror on his face. "I haven't changed _that_ much." With that, he wandered away, chuckling.

Buffy watched him go with an amused smile. It seemed that he was growing something that vaguely resembled maturity and respect for women. Good for him. She'd heard the old saying about leopards and spots, but then, Parker was human.

Human.

She pondered that as she hurried to catch up to Willow and Tara.

Darren Edwards had hurt a lot of women in his time. The injury he had inflicted on her had been more subtle than most, but it had still been terrible. She lived in a world of gods and monsters. She fought them every night, and she'd even died once. What was it all for if the humans she protected were just as bad?

Parker had reminded her that there were more shades of humanity than monsters and victims. People could surprise you—and people could change. Parker had.

Was that enough to fight for?

Maybe not, but as she tried to work her way through the surprisingly dense crowd, she realized something: only a Mayor-esque demon would attack a crowd of humans this large. And even then, Graduation Day had proven that a crowd of humans this large could fight back. Humanity had carved a place for itself in the Sunnydale night with their little candles. Courage and defiance.

Courage, defiance, and, thanks to Parker, a little bit of Hope.

Humanity.

Was that enough to fight for?

It would have to do.


End file.
